and he took my hand awhile
by lefcadio
Summary: Franz x Albert. A dark night on Luna, where dreams and reality collide.


"This way!"

Franz blinks, eyes focusing on the figure in front of him - a hand's extended, and there's a playful smile curving the lips.

"I--"

"You want my company, don't you?" Then there's a pout, and the warm fingers are catching his own, tugging him forwards.

And--

He blinks again, and Albert's watching him and there's something--

It's late. Franz can barely remember what's led them to this point, only that it's a soft blur of wine and laughter; smoke and-- didn't he and Albert separate?

But, no, because he's right here: solid and real, and pulling Franz along--

The night is cool; they always are, on Luna. They've only been here for a few days so far, and the freedom is still heady and intoxicating.

He shakes his head. What-- ?

Franz isn't paying much attention to his surroundings, or to the other people on the street. To how there's no cafés, or shops - only a few darkened bars with lights turned low.

"This way!"

Albert's pulling him along again, and Franz laughs, tightening his grip on the surprisingly soft hand within his own-- (because it's _Albert's_, and they're rarely so close) --and follows readily.

He's gazing up at the night sky as they hurry along, and it's so perfect, he thinks, because the bright stars are falling down around them -- sliding across the rooftops and dripping radiant sparks down onto the cobbled street.

"What are you looking at?"

Franz blinks again-- (focus, _focus_) --and there's Albert still, a funny smile on his face that makes Franz's insides twist, and he _knows_ he's blushing now but--

"You."

The word tumbles out automatically, and somewhere in the back of his mind he's surprised when Albert responds with a brilliant smile.

"Good." Albert sounds pleased, and Franz distantly wonders why he isn't distracted by the stars dripping all over the place. The cobbles are faintly luminescent, with deeply dark cracks nestled in between them; bottomless gorges even the stars can't reach.

Albert's feet land lightly on the stones, and the shimmering surface is beginning to stick to his shoes. It's somehow mesmerising, and Franz follows the light all the way up Albert's legs-- (normally he wouldn't dare, no, but he's feeling safe and deliciously warm in the knowledge of Albert's glances and touches and _that look_) --and so he allows his gaze to linger, and his mouth feels dry, lungs strangely heavy, breaths coming shorter.

Albert seems to notice this at last and turns -- Franz feels his heart still as their hands remain entwined.

"Hmm..." Albert pretends to think, tapping a finger against his chin with mock-gravity -- and then it's Franz's wrist that's being grabbed, blood hot and pulsing under the connected skin, and suddenly he's being pulled to the side, down into the blackened shadows of a dark alley.

In a rush of warmth Albert's right in front of him, pushing him up against the wall. The rough surface behind him is awkward and painful, but-- how can it matter? When there's hands sliding beneath his shirt, and those blue eyes are gazing at him so darkly, expectantly, and a pink tongue darts out to moisten those lips--

Franz thinks he may be going blissfully insane, but he kisses Albert anyway.

It's messy and desperate, because he never imagined it could happen -- teeth and hot tongues, Albert's _licking his neck_ -- and Franz is being pressed into the wall, eyes closed, and he's trembling.

(and suddenly he's remembering earlier -- how Albert had smiled and laughed, as they'd sat around and talked with people they barely knew)

But Albert's full attention is on him _now_, and Franz mumbles something incoherent, something urgent, against the top of the other's head.

"What was that?" Albert pauses and looks up at him, breathless, eyes glinting. His cheeks are flushed, but he looks--

(and they were passing around the pipe and the drinks, and everyone was saying yes, wasn't this amazing? And they'd stayed awhile, and then what? Then--)

Then this.

He stifles a groan as Albert's hand slips lower.

----

He's not sure how they came to be here -- it's in flashes -- being led to some empty place (abandoned? Is it okay?) where the room is dark and musty; cracks of dim light and a few rags on the floor. But he can't think; can barely register anything bar Albert and the _heat_ and the--

Franz comes with Albert's name dying on his lips, fingertips digging convulsively into the splintered floorboards beneath his hands.

That face below looks up; the features blur and those pink lips curve, as Albert wipes his mouth carelessly with the back of one hand. Franz shivers, and there's a brief moment of clarity -- disconcerting, and there's the ghosting of lips over his cheek, but he can't quite focus.

The tickle of brown hair, hyper-sensitive, and the flash of gold--

Wait.

Albert's never had an earring. Franz knows this, but still tries to reconcile why--

Another grin from above (when did he stand up?) and Albert-not-Albert is turning, and then he's rifling through Franz's wallet (when did he take that?), and biting his lower lip. He seems to be looking down at Franz where he now sits, slumped against the peeling wall, with an expression -- so strange, Albert wouldn't -- that's a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Hmm... you're pretty fucked off your face, but I like you." An appraising glance, "so I'll only take what you owe me."

And then there's the thud of his wallet hitting the dusty wooden floorboards next to him, and Albert-not-Albert-- (the features shift again, and Albert was never this thin, didn't have such a wide mouth) --is walking away, and his eyes meet Franz's briefly as he disappears through the door.

Gone, gone, gone.

Franz doesn't call out after him, because now he's feeling sick, and doesn't want Albert-not-Albert to come back and confirm what he already instinctively knows.

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall.

----

The next day, Albert teases Franz about the marks on his neck, and he laughs it off nervously, embarrassed. And that's okay, because it's what's expected.

Albert then reluctantly confesses with a sigh that he'd had no such luck, and had just returned to the hotel. He complains about how _awful_ he'd felt when he'd woken up this morning, and hadn't Franz felt just the same?

For a while, he can't forget. In his dreams it's that blank face and the thud of his wallet, and he's breathing in thick dust.

And it's okay, it's okay. (It's not okay.)

But the patchy memories of the night fade, and Franz doesn't really want to remember. It's a ghost-reality; a night that happened, yet did not.

Franz is content as long as Albert is happy; wants no more than Albert is willing to give. This _real_ Albert; his friend, his companion. This is who matters.

And yet...

The days pass, and Franz sometimes finds himself jumping at shadows; glancing around with a sick certainty that's he'll see a blank, smiling face again, wiping its mouth.

He never does.

(is it guilt? Regret? Or is it just that he wishes he didn't feel so awkward, now, whenever Albert touches him?)

But he laughs, he smiles -- (pushes it deep down, doesn't think about how it felt to _have_ Albert, no, even for a moment) -- and begins to appreciate Luna once more.

"Hey, Franz!" That voice, excited, happy, "let's go!"

_And yet…_

So Franz retrieves his mask from the dressing table and slips it on, heading for the door.


End file.
